The Girl with the Voice: In Her Own Words
by massivelyattacked
Summary: Snippets and shorts in the Girl with the Voice universe from Marieka's perspective. Written in response to the DA Prompt Generator. Highly random. Current installment: Marieka takes a trip to the Arcanaeum.
1. Locked Out

**Haven't been in the happiest of moods lately. Usually that makes for my best writing, but…pesky writer's block is still kicking my arse. But the best cure for writer's block is a good prompt. Since I want to write for The Girl with the Voice, I wasn't sure how I could do that with a prompt fest. Then it hit me…start a side project. I've been using Cherith's Dragon Age Prompt Generator for my 'Prompted' series of Dragon Age bits and bobs…so why not continue using it for Skyrim?**

**Since the story itself is told by everyone else, I figured this might be as good a place as any to give Marieka a bit of her own voice. I hope to continue to give her a common touch. Perhaps some of these stories might even tell a little about me. But not this one. I've never done anything like what Marieka's done here... *shifty eyes***

**Thanks to zevgirl for the brilliant idea of ignoring the pairings and simply using the prompts.**

**So…here goes nothing.**

**As with all my Skyrim writing, Bethesda owns...I just borrow...**

* * *

**_Locked Out_**

"Damn."

The Breton groaned as she dug through her pack, desperately trying to find the collection of keys she had amassed through her travels. Most were random – used once and forgotten. Some were simply found with no knowledge of what they could be used for. Still, Marieka had no desire to toss such things aside – there could be a use for them yet. But two of them were of import to her because she had earned them. Two keys represented months and months of hard work, fighting for coin and earning the right to purchase homes in the respective cities she now represented as Thane. Both Whiterun and Riften had become her home in their own right.

But as she stood at the front door of Honeyside, rifling through her pack, she realized the only way she would be entering her home this evening would be like a common criminal.

"Gods damned sabre cat," she muttered. She thought back to just how painfully unaware of her surroundings she was as she made her way home to Riften from Windhelm. The bloody cat came out of nowhere, swiping at her with its immense paw and knocking her clean off her feet. While she quickly regained her stance and managed to take the animal down, albeit with some considerable effort, it took much longer to retrieve her pack. The snow had been blowing and covered her pack as it lay on the ground while she tussled with the beast. When she finally managed to find the pack, she hadn't realized the items had – as she now discovered – fallen out of it.

Her _keys,_ for one.

Her _lockpicks,_ for another.

She shook her head angrily, looking around to ensure no guards would bear witness to what she conceded she would have to do. She raised her hand up, palm facing the lock of the door and began to summon an icy energy.

"Just what do you think you're doing there?"

The voice from behind her made her lose focus, as she jumped and she spun around quickly to see one of the city guards on patrol in the area.

"Oh!" she cried out. "I…I'm trying to get into—"

"Yes, I can see you're _trying_ to get into that house," he said. "And now you're coming with me for trying to break into it."

"No," Marieka protested. "It's not what you think. This is…my home."

"Ha! Trying to break into the Thane's house and claiming it to be—wait, a minute," he said. "By the gods, it _is _you. My apologies, Thane. I did not recognize you."

She hung her head, considering just how tremendously unkempt she must have looked for the guard to have mistaken her for a…thief. Or, at least a common thief.

"I seem to have…lost the key to my home in my journeys," she admitted. "How embarrassing."

The guard smiled and told her he would retrieve the blacksmith – who somehow found the time to double as a locksmith for the city. When the two men returned, Balimund looked at Marieka and shook his head as she avoided his eyes. It was not the first time he had encountered her in this manner. He pulled out his tools and began to work at the lock.

"I suppose you'll be needing me to craft a new set of keys for your home," he grumbled.

Just as it seemed that the lock was ready to bend to his will, the handle of the door began to turn and the door slid open. A shadowed figure stood in the doorway.

"Brynjolf!"

The Nord stepped out and looked at Balimund…then at the guard…then at Marieka.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"I…uh…" she stuttered.

"Our dear Thane seems to have locked herself out of her home," Balimund snorted. "And apparently did not think to do anything so complicated as _knock_ to see if anyone might be home."

She buried her face in her palms and peered out between her fingers. "How much do I owe you for your assistance, Balimund?"

He packed up his tools and stood, turning to face her. "Ah Marieka. Your embarrassment is enough payment for me." The interest alone on such a payment was well worth it – he'd not let her forget this moment so readily.


	2. Winner Takes All

**_Winner Takes All_**

Droplets of mead sprayed all around as Marieka slammed her mug down on the on the bar in front of her. Those gathered around her cheered; egging her on into yet another attempt to win against the Imperial soldier in front of her.

"Cor…Corpuscle," she slurred. "Gimme another drink!"

The man behind the bar shook his head and groaned as he began to fill another pair of mugs for the two women before him. He had to admit – it'd been quite some time since he'd seen the Winking Skeever in such frenzy.

"It's Corpulus," he muttered as he placed the mug carefully in front of her.

"Ah…yes," she replied. "Cornelious. Thank you."

He shook his head as he looked at her. The Breton's eyes were glazed over completely and she struggled to maintain her balance, despite how her grip on the bar left her knuckles white. The Imperial across from her appeared just as unsteady. Yet the two women immediately wrapped their fingers around their respective mugs and stared each other down once more.

"You…will _not_…outdrink me…Stormcock," the Imperial stammered.

Several onlookers snorted at the derisive comment.

"You aren't going to let her call you that, are you Breton?" called a voice from the crowd.

"Call me what?" she asked, oblivious to the insult.

"_Stormcock_," the drunk woman repeated.

"You called me—?" she began, but did not finish. The Imperial lifted her mug to her mouth and with a shocking amount of coherency, Marieka jabbed the palm of her hand under the mug, sending it straight into the woman's jaw and spilling its contents all over her.

As the woman sat there in shock, the Breton jumped unsteadily to her feet and slowly gulped away at her own mug of mead. When she pulled the mug away from her mouth, the Imperial was attempting to stand, cocking her fist back and aiming for Marieka's face. As her hand rushed forward in slow motion, it led her past where her intended target stood and straight towards the floor. She landed hard on the ground and two men watching the battle of wills and steadily decreasing sobriety pulled her off to the side.

The crowd cheered and declared Marieka the winner of the challenge. She stuck her arm into the air and wavered on her feet once more.

"I won! What…what did I win? I want my…prize!" she exclaimed and then promptly passed out.

* * *

When Marieka woke, several hours later, she found herself in a rather large, but empty bed. She looked around the room she was in and her eyes fell upon a fair haired woman sitting on a chair in the corner. She was also a Breton by her appearance.

"Who…wait…you're the bard from the Skeever," she mumbled.

The woman nodded. "Yes. Lisette. You're still in the Skeever."

"I…am? Oh…" she said. "Yes. _Now_ I remember. The challenge from the Imperial woman. Did I…win?"

The woman nodded again.

"And what did I win?"

"We…uh…we don't normally have women challenging each other here," Lisette replied. "So…you won a night with me."

"A night with…you?" She was incredulous that the woman would let herself be a prize for such a contest. "Don't you find that...degrading?"

Lisette shook her head. "Not at all. The men are usually so drunk from the contest that they typically pass out and I'm just left with a rather comfortable night's rest."

"So then," she began, looking only slightly nervous, "nothing happened here either. Right?"

"Right. But you can tell everyone it did, if you like. Most of the men want to do that."

"No, I…I think I'd be happier not to spread any rumours," Marieka replied with a chuckle.

"Would make quite the song though," Lisette pointed out. "You are Dragonborn after all."

"You know, rumours in song _do_ tend to sound better. I've never had a song written about me," she mused aloud with a smile growing upon her face. "Besides. I'll just deny it all anyhow."

Lisette smiled back at her, armed with the knowledge that even though she said she'd deny it, the look on her face suggested she probably wouldn't.


	3. Speaking Without Words

**Yeah, this one almost ventured into M territory. ;) Hope you enjoy...**

* * *

_**Speaking Without Words**_

It truly was a lovely evening for a walk. The breezes were warm and light; just enough to kiss the skin gently as they blew. With Masser full and Secunda waxing, the ground was illuminated just enough with an ethereal glow upon the surrounding mountain flowers they strolled between.

Brynjolf motioned to her, pointing in the direction of a particularly pretty spot near a trickle of a waterfall and she smiled at him as he led her to it. When they reached the stream leading from the small cascade, they both realized it was wider than first expected. He jumped across to the other side then reached for her hand to help her do the same. As she landed on her feet, she felt his arms wrap around her and he held her for a few moments in silence before placing a gentle kiss upon her forehead.

The sounds of the night surrounded them. The buzzing of insects that flitted about filled their ears with a tranquil hum; no doubt the resonance of dartwings as they settled down for the night. They continued to walk towards the small waterfall and could see the glow of dozens of tiny torchbugs beginning to punctuate the dusky sky as it grew darker.

He sat on the grass among a cluster of thistle and Marieka quickly joined him. With his legs stretched before him, she scooted between them and rested with her back on his chest as he pulled her close.

Not a word was exchanged as he began to run his hands across her shoulders and down her arms. He placed his lips upon her neck, kissing her softly. She listened to his quiet breathing, feeling the tips of his fingers upon her cool skin. The shivers that coursed through her caused her to shift in his arms. He responded by pulling her closer and kissing her at her jaw line.

No statements were expressed when his hands meandered towards the tops of her thighs. Her head tilted back slightly; the stubble on his face tickling her cheek.

No voices were heard as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, expelling warm breath upon her skin. His hands travelled further; one dipping between her thighs and the other, up the length of her side to caress her neck. Lips on skin sent tingles down her spine and quivers through her body.

Sweet gasps and hushed moans were the only sounds that mingled with the night air and the symphony of the dartwings. Clothing tossed aside like rubbish in favour of itinerant hands; fingertips brushing delicately over all manner of sweet places. She spun in front of him, turning to face him as she settled atop his thighs. She discovered perfection in the tender caress of his hands and in the warmth of his steady embrace.

Such exchanges…such rarities were treasured always. In the times spent apart and the moments together, thoughts of this night would cross Marieka's mind to keep her sane. To remind her of her center…of her home.

To prove that even in the silence, so much could be said.


	4. The Patter of Rain

**A little glimpse of Marieka and Onmund before all that Dragonborn nonsense started.**

* * *

_The Patter of Rain_

"I never much liked the rain."

She shrugged. "I have fond memories of the rains in High Rock," she said, a wistful smile settling upon her lips. "I suppose I should be thankful for that. We were close to the ocean, so it rained all the time."

"I would imagine the rains in High Rock were much different than those in Skyrim," Onmund offered.

She nodded. "Warmer, for one." She moved closer to him, allowing his body heat to permeate to her. "I just don't understand how rain can be so cold and _not_ become snow."

He smiled at her. "You're just not used to the climate here yet," he said. "You'll get used to it. After all, you've only been in the province for a few months now."

"I don't mean to complain, Onmund," she apologized.

"Nonsense. Think nothing of it." He brought his palm to the side of her face and tilted her head gently to rest upon his shoulder. She quickly snuggled into him further when he draped his other arm around her. The sudden contact with him caused a shiver to run through her.

They sat for some moments without speaking under the small overhang, backs pressed as close to the rock wall behind them as possible. The rain in Skyrim was typically harsh; cold, rough and unforgiving. But this day, the drops falling were almost gentle. They provided a soothing background for their comfortable silence. The stresses of being on the road in a foreign land were certainly getting to Marieka, and this moment was serving to allow calm to wash over her.

Soon enough however, the two would be back on their feet, trudging down winding paths and finding more trouble. Still, she took pleasure in simply _doing_ something. The years in High Rock were boring and insipid. It took crossing the border into the lands of the Nords to truly find the adventure she craved. Perhaps a little _too _much of it – though she limited her complaints.

Onmund shifted slightly and pointed towards the horizon. "Look," he said. "I can see the sun's rays breaking through the clouds. Soon we'll be on our way again and before you know it, we'll be in Whiterun."

"Yes," she replied. "Hope fully with enough coin to actually have a place to stay this time."

"But you love camping," he reminded her.

She smiled at him and continued to appreciate his warmth. "Oh yes," she snorted. "Our overnight at Saarthal was just _lovely_, wasn't it?"

He nudged her playfully. "Saarthal is the exception."

"Onmund," she began and he looked at her, waiting for her to continue. "Thank you for coming with me on this journey. You've been a really good friend to me."

"Think nothing of it, Marieka," he said with a smile. "Besides. I think I needed some adventure myself."

The quiet overtook them once more as they waited for the rains to subside. Marieka smiled to herself. She had a feeling the clear skies would bring good things their way. It was only a matter of time.


	5. Leap of Faith

**First of all, I can only assume that if you're reading this series of story snippets, you probably know about where they came from - The Girl with the Voice. If you haven't read that story, I _highly_ recommend you do. It might make more sense that way. But if you don't...well, hey...I like to live dangerously too, so by all means...do what you gotta do.**

**Since Onmund got to have a happy memory in this series, I thought it might be important to allow Lydia one as well. I'm all about good memories in my stories…they make me really think about my own when I've forgotten to do so.**

**Also. Foreshadowing. Yup.**

* * *

_**Leap of Faith**_

"You are absolutely crazy, Lydia!"

The Nord looked back over her shoulder at the Breton, smirking as she tossed her shield and blade to the side. Marieka hung back near the trees, watching as her housecarl stood near the edge of the cliff. She quickly removed her gauntlets and began to unfasten her boots.

"It's not crazy," she replied. "It's an amazing feeling, Marieka. You really should try it."

She groaned internally, cringing at the thought. "I'm not…really sure I can do it."

"Bah!" The Nord pulled her steel armour over her head and tossed it behind her. She turned around and looked at the Breton, standing in underclothes that barely left anything to the imagination. "Are you afraid of heights or something?"

"Me? No…no, not afraid of heights at all," Marieka replied. It almost sounded as if she tried to convince herself of that. "I just…is it even safe? Hitting the water from this height?"

Lydia laughed loudly. "Of course it's safe. My family came here when I was a girl. You see that spot right down there?"

Marieka approached slowly and looked in the direction of her pointed finger.

"We used to bring large loaves of bread with fresh cheeses and smoked meats. And we'd sit by the river and eat until we were stuffed. And then my brothers and I would come up here and jump off of the cliff into the water down there," she said wistfully.

It was the first time she'd ever seen the woman showing any bit of emotion in front of her.

Lydia blinked several times before turning away from Marieka. "It's the only memory I have of my family anymore," she continued. She stepped to the edge of the cliff and dove forward.

The Breton rushed to the edge, just in time to see the splash of water where Lydia broke the plane of the surface. She watched for a few moments until she surfaced again, laughing wildly.

"Come on, Marieka! Just jump! You won't regret it!" she called from below.

She looked down nervously.

"You can trust me," Lydia yelled. "I'd never let you get hurt!"

Marieka took a few steps back – took a deep breath. She removed her armour and boots quickly and approached the ledge once more. As she looked down, she saw the Nord stepping out of the river on to the shore. She had nothing but faith in her housecarl.

She could do this. She could make this jump.

With her toes over the edge, she leaned forward…and leapt.


	6. First Light of Dawn

**Yeah, so people have been kind of knocking on my door because I left them with a cliffhanger in the last chapter of "The Girl with the Voice" (which you should read if you haven't – otherwise spoilers! Don't say I didn't warn you!).**

**Since I haven't been able to write the next chapter to that yet, and am once again having trouble getting it finished (read: started), I figured I'd try to make the transition a little easier.**

* * *

_**First Light of Dawn**_

The words…the words rang in her ears repeatedly.

They had for the whole night, keeping her from falling asleep. And when she _did_ fall asleep, they managed to arouse her from her slumber.

_You are with child, Marieka. You are pregnant._

How could she even begin to think of anything other than those words?

Her emotions were uncontrolled and scattered. Panic seemed only natural – after all, she was dovahkiin. That in itself did not make her panic, but what she found herself in the middle of did.

This business with the dragons? With _Alduin_? Who had mere hours prior attempted to destroy her for the second time. Not to mention the ongoing war between the Stormcloaks and the Empire. The fact that she was entangled in so much risk…_frightened_ her.

_I can't fight for the Stormcloaks. There's too much risk._

_How can I continue to travel throughout Skyrim putting myself in danger? Too many small creatures who'd like to make a meal of me. Never mind the dragons…_

She sat on the steps at the top of the world in front of the monastery at High Hrothgar. The normally strong and turbulent winds that assaulted the mountain had calmed in the pre-dawn hours. A gentle snow was falling, blanketing the ground with a fresh layer of fluff. When Marieka lifted her head up from where it rested upon her knees, the sudden beauty of the place struck her. And she remembered the most important part of all of this…

_Brynjolf! Oh gods…how am I going to tell Brynjolf?_

They'd never discussed children. They should have…but they hadn't. She didn't know what his feelings were. What she _did_ know was that he was less than happy about how old he felt. And she wasn't sure if the news of a child would make him feel older.

A child. Her child. _Their_ child.

As she sat, her hands meandered towards her belly. She rested them there for a moment.

"I don't feel any different," she mused aloud to no one.

But then again, she did. Her whole life was about to change. It wasn't feasible to assume that anything would be the same after this. The doubt began to creep into the forefront of her mind.

_How can this happen? Nothing is going to be okay. Oh Brynjolf…I wish you were here with me right now. I'm so frightened…what am I going to do?_

She squeezed her eyes shut for a few moments, but when she opened them, they were drawn to the east. The sun's first rays were reaching up and over the slopes. They sparkled on the snow – flickering like crystal and gemstones on the ground. The snow that fell was surrounded by a brilliant glimmer of light as the rays encountered tiny ice crystals suspended in the air.

The display made her gasp. This place…this world…was so truly beautiful.

A small smile crept on to her lips.

"I'm going to have a baby."

Perhaps everything would work out after all…


	7. This is Not a Test

This was inspired by my trip to the hospital today. Got home at 1:30 AM and started writing…and now that I'm finished, I shall try to fight insomnia once more. Wish me luck...

* * *

_This is Not a Test_

Eyes open.

Darkness…save for dim light through…a window?

Panic.

_Where am I?_

Marieka knew she was lying down. She was definitely on her back. And when she attempted to employ the use of her abdominal muscles to sit up, they had none of it. She groaned, immediately reaching for her stomach in pain.

_What happened to me? Why can't I remember?_

_And where in Oblivion __**am**__ I?_

Her eyesight…hazy and unfocused in the darkness…eventually began to clear. She was in a small room, perhaps in someone's home. It looked comfortable enough from what she could tell. A shelf or two full of books and tomes. A small table in the corner with a chair pushed in under it.

She felt around underneath of her. Yes…this was definitely a bed.

But just _who_ did it belong to?

She again felt at her stomach – there were bandages wrapped round her. Someone had attempted to heal her. She'd have to thank them. But still…what _happened_?

Suddenly, thoughts flooded back. That damned mage! _Marcurio_! She had finally taken a chance and hired him when she'd seen him at the Bee and Barb. And now here she was…injured again. If she recalled correctly, it was…it was _he_ who had injured her! By the gods, was he powerful!

"Marcurio," she growled as she lay in the bed, unable to move.

She'd have to be more careful if she chose to work with other mages – especially those unproven to her. It was more than evident that he was useful…apparently a little too useful if he was injuring her. She imagined what the same spell would have done to a skeever…or a draugr…or a dragon, for that matter.

Yes, the man was certainly useful. He just needed better aim if they were to fight together in close quarters.

Regardless, from now on, she'd insist on caution. She'd be more alert…more wary of her surroundings. This life…it wasn't a game. This wasn't a trial run.

One wrong move and…it didn't bear thinking on for moments longer than necessary.

This life was _not_ a test.


	8. Letting Go

**While it is a bit of a stretch, I'd like to think that the Bretons are based loosely upon the actual Bretons who hail from Brittany, in France. I think that in High Rock, the culture would likely be similar to a French/Celt mix based upon where they're located in Tamriel. So, my decision to use the Brythonic language is rooted in that. So there.**

* * *

_**Letting Go**_

It was time to say goodbye.

After all, Marieka assumed that this would be the last time she set foot in the city where she grew up. What was left for her now?

_Nothing._

She sighed as she continued away from her home – the only home she'd ever truly known. Her pace quickened as she heard the slamming of a large wooden door from behind her. It was her father…of _course_ it was.

He'd already discovered her note. She hoped it would have taken him longer.

"Marieka!" he bellowed. "Get back here!"

She ignored his call, maintaining her speed and refusing to turn to face him.

"Bah! You'll be back. You don't have a future outside of Wayrest."

His words almost made her stop in her tracks. She shook her head quickly.

_No. He wants me to stop. Without me, he has nothing._

She thought she heard footsteps behind her, but when she turned to look, no one was there. It was her imagination. Or perhaps her wishful thinking that her father could possibly care enough to follow.

Thankful for the pleasant weather at least, she continued on. One step. Then another. And another. One foot in front of the other. _Just keep going, Marieka. Keep going…_

Her resolve was wavering.

What if her father was _right_? What if she _didn't_ have a future outside of Wayrest? Should she just turn back before she got too far to come home?

Her steps led her to the side of the road where she found herself leaning against a large tree. She pulled at a clump of her hair in frustration as she stared at the dirt. When she looked up, she noticed where she was.

She took a deep breath and walked on.

The graveyard.

Her feet led her directly where she knew they would – her mother's headstone. It was situated closely to the graves of her grandparents. Her mother had no siblings. But they were close – the three of them. When her grandfather passed on, her grandmother retreated into herself. Or at least, that's what her mother told her. Marieka was far too young when her grandparents both passed.

Come to think of it, she was far too young when her _mother_ passed…

She knelt on the ground next to where her mother was buried, purposefully picking up leaves and clearing away debris from the site.

"Mamm," she began as she brushed the short grasses under her fingers. "I can't stay here anymore. In Wayrest, I mean. Tad is…well, _you_ know how we got along. It hasn't gotten any better since you…since you left us."

She leaned towards the grave to dust some dirt from the stone, moving into a seated position.

"I miss you, mamm. It's harder every day without you," she continued. "But I need to go. If you were still here, I'd bring you with me. I'm going to the College in Skyrim. Remember when I told you that it was what I wanted to do? I remember. I remember how you looked at tad when I told you, because you were afraid that he would have just trampled on my dreams. But he didn't say anything, and the sparkle in your eye mamm…that was enough to tell me that you wanted me to do it."

She closed her eyes for a moment, focusing on her breathing.

"And now, I'm going to do it. I'm going to Skyrim and I don't care how long it takes me. I'll make it to the College, mamm. You always told me that you knew I would do great things. That I'd become a stronger mage like you…and mamm-gohz and tad-kozh. And I hope one day that will be true."

She stood up, wiped the dirt and grass from her clothes.

"I can't be here to take care of tad any longer," she said. "I hope you understand."

She turned around and began to walk back towards the main road, but stopped for a moment and looked back.

For the first time in her life, she felt strong enough for the journey on her own. She felt ready to begin her life anew. If it was strength given to her from her mother, she didn't know…but it was time.

"Kenavo mamm," she whispered. "I'm letting you go now…"

* * *

_Breton translations_

_Mamm – mother  
__Tad – father  
__Mamm-gohz – grandmother  
__Tad-kozh – grandfather  
__Kenavo - goodbye_


	9. Things You Can't Have

**I've been away for far too long. Sorry about that.**

* * *

_**Things You Can't Have**_

"What is it that you miss the most these days, Marieka?"

Her eyes drifted upwards from the small fire she was stoking. The dancing flames had captured her attention so deeply that she'd barely even realized Kharjo had asked her a question.

"I'm…sorry, what?" she murmured without looking in his direction.

"You said earlier that you've begun to miss a lot of things since being on the road," he replied. "I wonder what these things are that you speak of."

"Oh."

Her hesitation suggested clearly that there were a great number of things she missed – or perhaps that she was unsure of what she missed the most. Either way, the Khajiit waited patiently for an answer to his question.

"I really have so much, Kharjo," she said quietly. "I shouldn't complain about what I don't have."

"Yes, but for all the weapons and armour and your homes and friends," he quickly interjected, "there are certainly things that you miss."

She nodded. "I miss the things that I can't have."

"What do you mean? Like a sweetroll?" he asked.

Marieka looked up at him with a smile. "No…not a sweetroll. Besides, I can find a good sweetroll in any of the cities I travel to now." She began to shake her head. "No…the things I can't have aren't actually 'things' at all."

He looked at her, puzzled by her response, but allowed her to continue.

"I miss peace and quiet. I miss waking up without a care in the world. I miss the days when the tasks that were laid out before me weren't world changing."

"Ah."

As their eyes met, she wasn't certain if he fully understood. Few probably would be able to fully comprehend what it was like to have one's every decision loaded with prospective impact. Her assessments…her judgments – every last choice she could make had potential to affect everyone around her; the whole province of Skyrim in certain cases. Some days she thought it would just be easier to walk away from her task – to leave Skyrim to the dragons and never look back.

Her hand meandered to rest on her stomach.

"I miss those things…and I miss more than that as well," she said. "I sometimes think that I miss my old life. The life where things were easier. Where there wasn't so much pressure on me to make the right decision all the time."

Kharjo offered a half-smile to her for comfort.

"But then," she continued, "I think of all of the things that I've gained. I think of all of the things that I never would have now if I didn't miss the other things. Regret certainly isn't something that I keep near to my heart if I can help it."

The Khajiit rose to his feet and took the stick she had been prodding the fire with from her hand.

"Perhaps I can offer you something else that I know you often miss," he suggested.

It was Marieka's turn to be confused.

He smiled warmly at her. "The chance for a good full night's rest on the road. Get your rest – I will keep watch for the night."

She closed her eyes and her lips turned up into a smile as she nodded. "The day we choose our own paths, Kharjo…you will be added to the top of the list of whom and what I miss." She turned away from him and stretched out on the ground with her back to the warmth of the fire. As she quickly fell into slumber, she could hear the Khajiit whisper a response.

"Let us hope that day does not come, my friend."


	10. When Our Eyes are Closed

**I've been having a bit of a time trying to write the newest chapter for Girl with the Voice. Since I seem to be stymied, I figured I'd try to go at stimulating my creative process using a different means – a side chapter. I'd like to think that I was successful at turning this prompt into a bit of a double entendre – in an ironic sense, not an erotic one. Yeah, anyway...really, the whole thing is just an attempt to get me writing again.**

**Ugh...even **_**this**_** attempt has been slow going. But, I've finished it. Hope it's up to snuff!**

* * *

_**When Our Eyes are Closed**_

"Welcome home," announced Savos Aren, as Tolfdir – with apprentices in tow – entered the Hall of the Elements.

_Or as close to home as one could be when they don't have one_, Marieka thought to herself as she followed close behind the old, Nord mage.

"It is good to be back in the warmth of Winterhold," Tolfdir chuckled with a smile.

Savos offered the man a look that acknowledged the longstanding inside joke before continuing.

"I trust that your exploration of Saarthal was...uneventful," he said.

None of the students dared make eye contact with the Arch-Mage once he spoke.

"It was...not?" he asked. "Perhaps you could provide me with a report, Tolfdir?"

The old mage nodded. "You may all return to your rooms," he advised the students and they began to head off. "Not you, Marieka."

The Breton spun around, though not surprised at the mention of her name. After all, _she_ was instrumental in everything that had happened in the ruins. When Onmund, J'Zargo and Brelyna had closed the door to the hall behind them, Savos waited expectantly for an explanation of what occurred at Saarthal. For the first time, he noticed the minor injury that Marieka had on her chin – scratches, covered up well by dirt from some unknown skirmish.

"What happened to you?" Savos asked, angling towards her face for a closer inspection.

"We..." she began, pausing to look at Tolfdir.

"Go on," he advised. "You should tell him what we found."

She took at deep breath. "We encountered some draugr – once we found...this." She lifted a chain from where it rested upon her neck, dangling a carved amulet in front of her.

"The girl was quite useful in helping to dispatch them, Savos," Tolfdir interrupted. "I foresee very good things for her arcane abilities."

The Arch-Mage raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Still, a few draugr can't be all that you discovered. At least, not judging by the reaction of the other students."

Tolfdir shook his head. "No. We discovered something more impressive. _Far_ more impressive."

The three discussed the discovery of the large glowing orb at Saarthal. The way it was guarded by the most powerful draugr Marieka had ever encountered...the sheer beauty of the massive floating object as it hovered in the ruins of the ancient city. When they concluded their exchange, Savos paused in thought for several moments.

Marieka and Tolfdir stood quietly, glancing at each other briefly and waiting for Savos to speak.

"Tolfdir... prepare yourself for a return to Saarthal. We shall retrieve this orb for study at the College," he announced. "Leave me with Marieka – I should yet like to discuss some things with her."

The older mage nodded and graciously made his exit.

Savos turned to face the young woman in front of him once again.

"I should like you to help me with some research on this orb," he said, heading towards a small desk and retrieving a scrap of parchment. He glanced back over his shoulder at the Breton in between scribbling on the parchment quickly. "Head up to the Arcanaeum and speak to Urag. He will be able to help you retrieve this list of books." As he concluded writing on the parchment, he stood straight and passed it to Marieka. "Any information you can find on the Eye of Magnus will be useful."

"The Eye of...?"

"That is the orb you've discovered. I trust Tolfdir can't have remembered its name," he chuckled. "The old man can barely remember his own."

She smirked at the comment, but remained silent.

"I prefer that you did not speak to others about the orb," he advised. "Please remind your fellow apprentices that their discretion would be appreciated."

She looked at him oddly. "Arch-Mage? Is there something you aren't telling me?"

"It is sometimes when our eyes are closed, that we are able to see most clearly, Marieka," he advised. "While I certainly will require you to keep your eyes open to the dangers that are coming, there will be times where shutting them is just as important. You'd do well to remember that."

"Of course, Arch-Mage," she replied, nodding quickly. As she turned and began to return to her room in the Hall of Attainment with her head down, a strange feeling gripped her stomach. Near the door, she looked up just in time to prevent running into the Altmer mage, Ancano.

"Watch where you're going, _apprentice_!" he hissed as she passed him.

The chill that hit her spine at the sound of his voice was enough to cause her to wonder if he wasn't exactly whom the Arch-Mage had been alluding to. Eyes open or closed...Ancano was not all he appeared to be, and Marieka wasn't about to let her guard down.


	11. If You Have to Hurt to Feel

**So, I was finally starting to doze off after yet another bout of insomnia – happening far too often, if you ask me. But then, sleep typically eludes me in times like these. I digress – the point is that in my almost-dozed-off state, I must have rolled over awkwardly on to my cast, which in turn twisted my entire arm in some jolted-awake-inducing movement. So here I am, yet again as sleep eludes me; this time, with pain in my arm from my elbow to the surgically reattached wrist…trying now to write something. With one working hand. Why, you ask? Well, I suppose I'm just a masochist, in the end. Fitting, then…the prompt that caught my eye.**

**That, and since I updated my FanFiction profile yesterday – stating that I had no idea when I'd have more GwtV content, I felt the need to prove myself wrong.**

* * *

_**If You Have to Hurt to Feel**_

It wouldn't be long now. The final preparations for the journey to High Hrothgar were almost complete. Parties representing the Stormcloaks and the Legion had assembled in Ivarstead and were merely waiting for word from Marieka to begin the ascent. She had purposefully dallied – the longer she held off on the negotiations, the longer the temporary truce would last, albeit unintentionally on the parts of the warring factions.

Still, peace is peace. And she was glad to have it.

She exited the room she and Brynjolf had rented before dawn, allowing him to continue to slumber while she took some moments to herself. She quietly padded across the floor of the main hall, nodding to Wilhelm – proprietor of the Vilemyr Inn –as she silently opened the door and slipped out on to the main porch.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she breathed in the scent of the morning deeply. The unfathomable blue of the early morning skies were beginning to allow the pink and golden hues of the imminent sunrise to filter across the horizon.

"There is a strange sadness that surrounds you these days, my dear girl," came a voice from the path to the road ahead.

"Ulfric," she replied, as her eyes landed upon his darkened form. "I didn't expect to see you up and about so early."

"My sleep is restless in these times, Marieka," he replied, stepping up the path to meet her. "And it's more than evident that I am not the only one affected in such a manner."

She descended the steps, gently lowering herself to sit upon them as he approached.

"There is a lot of work to be done to create the stability needed in Skyrim on a permanent basis. But I don't think I'm incorrect at believing that it may even be more difficult to achieve such a peace even temporarily."

He chuckled quietly. "Don't think us all so difficult to appease," he replied. "You will have your armistice. We will reach an agreement and will support you in your endeavours against the dragon threat."

"Truthfully, it's not the Stormcloaks I worry about," she said. "I don't know the Legion. Tullius? Rikke? They are mysteries to me. I don't know how to approach this whole thing."

Ulfric leaned upon the railing of the steps and looked down at her. "It will be fine. The negotiations will be successful. You have…a way with people, Marieka. They trust you."

"I don't know why," she sighed. "I wouldn't trust me."

"Nonsense," he shot back immediately. "You are good hearted and have the best intentions for this province."

She weakly smiled at him.

"And if I'm not mistaken, and the rumours are true," he began, "you are now with child. How can we not trust a mother to be?"

As she looked up at him, a smirk crossed his face. She nodded slowly.

"The rumours are true," she replied.

"Then why do you look so unhappy, Marieka?" he asked. "You should be overjoyed. Even if that thief of yours _is_ the father."

"Still don't have any good things to say about Brynjolf then, eh Ulfric?"

"Not if he funded me with all the septims in Skyrim," he countered. "However, this is a blissful time for you. Yet you wander around – lost, unhappy, despondent. Why is that?"

"Look at what I face, Ulfric. What _we_ face. Even with the possibilities that a child will bring? I'm not even certain if bringing a child into this world is the right thing to do. So yes, I _am_ unhappy. How will I protect a child if I can't even protect myself?"

"Push those thoughts aside," he said. "You're shutting yourself off from allowing those who care for you to help you. You're not alone, Marieka. You don't need to be sad. Or lost."

"Ulfric," she replied sadly, "sometimes the only way I know I'm alive is when I feel the pain."

"If you have the hurt to feel anything, Marieka, then you may as well give up on this life right now."

Without a second's hesitation, he stepped up the remaining stairs and entered the inn, leaving her alone to consider his words.

She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. Being cold to the challenges she faced – that was the only way to get through them…_wasn't it?_ Doing everything on her own without bringing outsiders in – that was the safest way. The way to make sure everyone survived the coming days…_wasn't it?_

Maybe Ulfric was right.

But whether he was or he wasn't, she sighed loudly. She'd at least have the seven thousand steps to High Hrothgar to think on what he said.


	12. The Smell of Old Books

**Marieka's friends at the College of Winterhold introduce her to the library for the first time.**

* * *

_**The Smell of Old Books**_

The students stood before the great doors of the Arcanaeum, before Onmund stepped in front of the group suddenly.

"Now, Marieka," he began. "Urag is the librarian here. He is—"

"A hard arse!" Brelyna interrupted.

"I was going to say challenging," Onmund said.

"J'zargo believes the Orsimer is temperamental."

Everyone looked at Marieka.

"Okay. I get it. He's difficult."

"Just don't…_touch_ anything," the Nord mage warned her.

"Don't touch anything?" she said incredulously. "But…it's a _library_."

"Don't say we didn't warn you," Brelyna groaned.

With that, Marieka pushed past her fellow apprentices and opened the door. Her eyes widened considerably at the sheer size of the room and the sight of so many books. She stood in awe in the doorway for a few moments while she took in all of the new surroundings. This was a moment she would not soon forget; the moment she realized just how much knowledge was about to be at her disposal.

At least, until Urag gro-Shub's booming voice echoed across the hall dispelling the moment of pure joy instantaneously.

"Don't even _think_ about touching any of these books," he bellowed.

Marieka glanced sideways at Onmund.

"I told you," he whispered gruffly.

With a sigh, she mustered up enough courage to approach the Orc to confront him.

"Marieka! What are you—?" Brelyna murmured.

Ignoring the hushed warnings from her friends, she continued on. When she reached the desk he stood behind, she cleared her throat timidly and waited. He peered up from the book he was reading and his brow furrowed, sending his face into an immediate scowl.

"Who are you?" he asked. "More importantly, why are you bothering me?"

"My name…is Marieka," she stuttered. "I'm a new apprentice."

"I should hope so," he growled. "No one is allowed in the Arcanaeum from outside of the College."

"Of course," she replied. "I had a question for you. About the books."

"Well, quit stalling and ask."

She gulped. "I…well, I mean…the books. Why can't we…touch any of them?"

He leaned forward over the desk and sneered at her. "Because they are _my_ books and I don't want your grubby little fingers getting all over them."

"But we need to do research for a class. Some history and—" she protested before he quickly cut her off.

"All the more reason not to let you touch them. You'll be in a hurry and will probably rip the pages or some other nonsense," he growled. "You can only look at books in here under my supervision. And I don't have time to supervise you right now."

She frowned. Her shoulders fell, conveying her disappointment in the outcome of the exchange to her friends behind her.

As she turned around slowly, she mumbled to herself. "Too bad. I miss the smell of old books. I was really looking forward to that experience."

The old Orc looked up from his book once more, his eyes widening slightly.

"Like the smell of a warm hearth on a cold night," he said.

"Or the smell of earth and grass between your toes in the spring," she added, slowly turning back to face him.

"Like soft leather and fresh pine and years of sunshine filtered in through an old dirty window on to its shelves."

"Like the smell of a good friend."

"What did you say your name was again?"

"Marieka."

"Well, Marieka. Perhaps we can work something out."


End file.
